Regrets and Roses
by Space Cat
Summary: One can regret not doing anything just as much as doing something. (One-shot, pairings debatable)


**Author's Notes**:  I never intended to post this, but one of my friends said I should, so here it is.  My first complete Harry Potter fanfic.  Of course, it's not very long, but it was still fun to write.  Hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer**:  Do I really need to say it?  No?  Good.    

Regrets and Roses

Everything about the day reminded Harry of him.  It had started out peacefully enough, the sky a bright blue, and only a few white fluffy clouds floating up in the atmosphere.  But when they had all gathered together, it became overcast suddenly, a strong wind tugging at black, somber robes and a few splatters of rain hitting hair and pale, drawn faces.  He changed moods just as quickly, sweet and child-like one moment, violent and cold the next.  It was an oddly endearing trait, something that breathed his name, which tied him to Harry as surely as bees flocked to honey.

The gray clouds in the sky reminded Harry of his eyes, as much as the stones surrounding him did, but in entirely different ways.  The stones were cold, unfeeling, and passionless.  The clouds above him were different.  Some might think that those dark clouds were equally as foreboding, but Harry felt comforted by them.  They encircled the earth, soft and soothing, just as those gray orbs could surround him and keep the nightmares away.  Harry took off his glasses to rub his sore eyes, his cool fingers soothing the hectic flesh before replacing them.  With his vision focusing once more, his thoughts came together like a deck of cards.  He was not here to regret.

He cleared his throat, his soft tenor voice filling the silence of the area.  "Well, Draco, in a world that's crumbling down as I speak, it's reassuring to find that some things haven't changed.  You're still a bloody git who tries to steal center stage as often as he possibly can.  But I am grateful.  If you hadn't tried that silly ass dramatic speech about victory before he was about to kill me, I never would've found a way to get out of that damn cage.  And although that is the main reason why I'm grateful, there are others.  You've given the newspapers something else to write about, instead of my killing Voldemort."

Harry's voice, having started out hoarse and quiet, smoothed out and had grown stronger.  His next words, however, dropped to a mere whisper, and emotion roughened his tone once more.  "I'm glad I had the chance to know you before you…"  He took in a deep breath, and hurried on.  "Despite the fact that we only really knew each other for a short time, I think I loved you more than anything else on this world.  I don't know why."  He crouched down, fingers dangling between his knees.  A light smile found it's way to his lips, and he laughed softly.  "You would probably say it was because of your charm and wit, your good looks and suave manner, but you were more than that to me.  Ron and Hermione may be my best friends, but you were my soul mate.  I'll miss you, Draco."  His words drifted off on another sudden gust, and he stood gracefully, leaving behind an object.  Two roses lay on the ground, their stems twined together, the two blossoms rested side by side, the silvery white of one contrasting greatly with the velvety black of the other.

He tucked his hands into his jacket, shivering in the cold, his eyes trained on the ground.  Without turning, he shot a word into the growing darkness, filled with asperity and amusement.  "Well?"

"It was the best eulogy I've ever gotten, Potter."

Harry laughed into the wind and turned, green eyes resting on the figure behind him.  He was leaning forward on one of the tombstones, outstretched arms propped on the top of it, the brim to his baseball cap dangling between lean, elegant fingers.  The prayer-like attitude of his position was deeply incongruous.  Harry shifted his attention to the hat, and swallowed hard as those long extensions of the man's hands caressed the fabric, bringing to mind awkward nights of rushed joining, and longer nights of secret kisses, and gentle massages.  To shake off both feelings, Harry reacted by falling into the routine they had perfected over the years.

"It's bad form to come to your own funeral, Malfoy," he murmured, smirking.  Draco eyed Harry thoughtfully, and then straightened, his long legs easily carrying him around the tombstone he had been leaning on until he was facing Harry.  Unable to face the emotions that were suddenly quite clear in those gray eyes, Harry turned, his hands fists in his pockets.  Warm arms curled around him, and he reluctantly drifted back into them with a tired sigh.

Draco's voice murmured into his ear, gentle, but hiding an inner amusement, "The flowers were a nice touch."

Harry snorted with laughter, his head resting back onto the taller man's shoulder.  "Yes, they were, weren't they?"  They stood together, sharing strength and warmth, before they both pulled away simultaneously.  The tenuous contact was kept as their hands met and clung, as if they were both afraid that the other would vanish.  To a stranger walking by, the two would be noticeable, if not for their different, and yet very appealing attractive looks, then for the sharp and strange contrasts between the two.

Harry was tall, but not remarkably so, and was still as wiry as ever, although it was mostly muscle wrapped around bone, now.  He still wasn't physically imposing.  He was still garbed in his formal suit, appropriately somber, although he had taken off the robes after they had all left him to 'mourn' alone.   He had even managed to tame his black hair for the occasion.  Despite the pain lining his face in some places, he bore the brunt of his grief for all those that had been lost well.  The earnest honesty on his face was nearly heart breaking.

The man standing beside him was a different story.  His facial expression was one of bored interest, a studied nonchalance that hid his real emotions, and kept them locked away.  Faded jeans clung to his hips and legs, and the black t-shirt displayed a sharp, angular body.  The lined jean jacket finished the ensemble, but despite the worn clothing, he still stood out, still dominated.  His silvery blond hair was tousled, and hung over his forehead in soft spikes.

To anyone who had known Draco and Harry well, the differences were even more startling.  For once, Draco was the one who looked less than perfect, while Harry wore the expensive suit with ease.

Eventually, Draco broke the silence.  "It's strange, seeing my own tombstone.  And did you have to put _'He died nobly, and with courage_'?  It makes me sound like a bloody Gryff.  No offense."

"None taken.  And your death was very courageous, you know.  Took down six Death Eaters," Harry said, fighting to hold back the delight.

"Ah, hell.  I suppose I could forgive you this once, then."  Harry couldn't hold it back any longer, and they shared a grin, before the mood turned serious once more.

"Do you have to go?" Harry asked wistfully.

"You know I do.  The Auror's don't believe I'm good, despite what you've said, and half of the Death Eater's know that I'm good, while the other half will try to get me to join their cause.  It'll be much easier to disappear," Draco replied patiently.  They had gone over this already:  several times, in fact.  He didn't want to leave, but he knew it would be much easier for Harry if he did.

"The girls will miss you."

"Granger will shack up with Weasley, and before you know it, they'll have another hoard of children to take over the world.  She'll be fine."  Draco stared ahead impassively, ignoring the hair obscuring his eyes as the wind turned a bit more violent.

Harry glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and then, letting his gaze drop, murmured softly, "And Ginny?"

Ginny.  The young red head they both loved almost as much as they loved each other.

A few moments passed, and Draco knelt down, taking out two objects.  He murmured a word, and, where there were once only two roses, now there were three.  A blood red rose was loosely coiled around the other two, holding them both gently.  He stood and pocketed his wand, glancing to Harry, and was relieved to see the approval there.  "It'll be harder for her, but she has you," he said, holding up a finger to forestall any arguments.  "I won't be around to get jealous.  Just promise me that if you have any children, you name at least one of them after me."

Harry's lips twisted up into a smile.  "That's a large 'if', but alright."

Draco nodded briskly and shoved the baseball cap over his head, adjusting it slightly before staring at him expectantly.

As if on cue, Harry made a face.  "That hat looks horrible on you."

"Good.  I know it's hard to dim the wonder that is I, Draco Malfoy, but the less attractive I look, the less likely people will notice me," he drawled out, releasing Harry's hand.  Feeling cold and adrift all of a sudden, Harry crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

"I'll mi – " was all he got out before Draco leaned forward to kiss him.  It wasn't a deep kiss, nor very long, but it seared him down to the soul, leaving a permanent mark on his psyche.

"Good-bye, Harry."  Draco turned and strode off.  He couldn't stay any longer, not when he was looking at him with those vulnerable green eyes that were begging him to stay.  He didn't look back – couldn't, or else he _would_ stay, because he could feel those eyes boring into his back, those eyes that reminded him of fresh leaves, of early spring mornings.  They told him that life would go on; it was painful to think of a life without Harry.  But he couldn't look back.  And so he walked away without turning around to take one last glimpse of the man that he had given up everything for.  He would regret it for the rest of his life.

The wind blew between them, and Harry stared after Draco, at a loss.  What could he say?  _Good-bye_ seemed too paltry.  _I love you_ was too desperate, and besides, Draco knew that already.  All the while, Draco was striding further and further away.  Harry was struck by a memory, of their first year at Hogwarts, when Draco had offered his friendship, and Harry had declined.  Would this be the same, then?  Would he just let Draco go?  But he couldn't think of anything to say, anything that would make him stay.  And so he stood there, watching the lone figure walk out of the graveyard, and into the street beyond that.  Harry hadn't said anything.  And he would regret it for the rest of his life.

**Author's Notes**:  Depressing, huh?  But sort of hopeful at the same time.  Oh, and I expect a lot of people will have different interpretations on who loves who and such.  I never intended to write it that way, but when one of my friends pointed out a different view, I realized I left it all very open.  Oops.  But it works!  Reviews are appreciated, but not expected.


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